


The Dog Days (Have Just Begun)

by al_ex_an_d_er_hamiltons



Series: The Fisherman AU Series [5]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M, fisherman AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:13:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28138989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/al_ex_an_d_er_hamiltons/pseuds/al_ex_an_d_er_hamiltons
Summary: Despite David’s best efforts to resist getting a dog, he couldn’t help but picture standing on the dock and having both Patrick and the dog bound up to him at the end of the day, sea spray weighing down their matching curls.Or, a brief glimpse into the day David and Patrick met their dog, Halibut Brewer.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: The Fisherman AU Series [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1649650
Comments: 58
Kudos: 145





	The Dog Days (Have Just Begun)

**Author's Note:**

> Another tiny installment of the Fisherman AU series! Can probably be read as a stand-alone as long as you have the context that Patrick is a fisherman living in Peggy’s Cove, Nova Scotia. This installment takes place between the main story in this series, “You Were the Ocean...” and an installment called “After the Storm.”

“ _Just_ so you’re aware,” David said emphatically as Patrick pulled the door open and held it for him, “this is not me agreeing to get a dog. This is me agreeing to _consider_ getting a dog.” 

“Okay, David,” Patrick said patiently, his upside-down smile firmly in place. David narrowed his eyes at Patrick suspiciously, crossing his arms across his chest as he stepped through the door of the animal shelter. 

Aside from the handful of strays and surrendered animals that Ted housed at his vet clinic, the closest shelter to Peggy’s Cove was located in Dartmouth, about an hour away. David spent the drive laying out what he considered the ground rules for picking out a dog. 

“It can’t shed,” he insisted, counting items off on his fingers. “I don’t want it to be too energetic and jumpy. Preferably no barking. And I am _not_ picking up any… byproducts.” 

“David,” Patrick’s tone was the maintaining-patience-but-just-barely one that David was becoming intimately familiar with. “It’s a dog, not a stuffed animal. They’re going to bark and shed and yeah, even poop sometimes.” He glanced over at David, shrugging. “If you really don’t want a dog, we don’t have to get one. I just thought we could look. See what they have. Maybe think about it?” 

So David had gamely followed Patrick inside when they’d arrived, telling himself to be a good sport, fiddling with his rings anxiously as they meandered through the kennels, half-listening as the shelter volunteer introduced them to all the dogs. They were a new addition, the gold bands, and David still found himself staring at them in disbelief more often than not. 

Patrick had taken him out on the water one evening, just as the sun was getting ready to set. David had complained about the breeze, and the sea spray ruining his hair, and the smell. All the while Patrick just smiled at him patiently, looking back at him as he had been for months, his smile open and fond and easy even when David was being bitchy and unfair and difficult. Sometimes it seemed like Patrick liked him even _more_ that way, liked being the one to smooth David’s ruffled feathers and kiss away the furrow between his brows. He _must_ like it, David reasoned, for as often as Patrick was the one doing the feather-ruffling and button-pushing to begin with. 

Liked it enough, anyway, to drop to one knee and slip four rings onto David’s fingers just as the sun set behind him, asking David to stay forever. David could only nod, overcome and blinded by the sun glinting off the surface of the water and the grin on Patrick’s face, everything bright and bathed in reds and golds. 

David shook himself from the memory, focusing on the task at hand. Patrick had made him so unbelievably happy; he deserved a little happiness in return, even if it came in the form of something four-legged and slobbery. 

“ _Oh_ ,” David breathed as he rounded the final corner of kennels, stopping so abruptly that Patrick bumped into him with a soft _oof_. His eyes had fallen on a black ball of fluff curled on a blanket, a shock of curly black fur falling over its eyes. When it spotted David, it sat up, revealing white-socked paws and a blaze of white on its chest, but didn’t come closer to the front of the enclosure. 

“We’ve been calling this little guy Trigger. He’s the last in his litter, his sister was adopted yesterday,” the volunteer explained, hooking her thumbs into her belt loops as she nodded towards the puppy. 

“Any idea of breed?” Patrick squatted down, sticking his fingers through the diamond weave of the kennel. Only then did the puppy bound over, tail wagging as he snuffled at Patrick’s fingers, gently biting one experimentally. 

“Our best guess is some sort of Portuguese Water Dog mix, based on the mom’s physical characteristics.”

David gasped. “Like Bo and Sunny Obama?” 

The woman smiled wanly and shrugged noncommittally. “Sure. I guess.” 

Patrick looked up at David, his eyes wide, and David tried to tamp down the flare of excitement he’d felt. “They don’t shed much, you know, because of the curly coat,” Patrick murmured. “And they’re great working dogs. I could even train him to go out on the boat.”

David tried not to smile, even though he knew Patrick would see through his posturing regardless. Despite his best efforts to resist getting a dog, he couldn’t help but picture standing on the dock and having both Patrick and the dog bound up to him at the end of the day, sea spray weighing down their matching curls. Patrick would kiss him fiercely, and David would squirm, pretending to be put out by the smell of damp wool and ocean water, and the dog would circle around them, yapping happily. David would never admit how warm the visual made him feel. 

“Do you want to hold him?” the woman asked, gesturing for Patrick to move so she could open the kennel. 

Before David could object, she’d deposited the wriggling bundle of fur into his arms, and he knew immediately that he was screwed. Both the puppy and Patrick were gazing at him hopefully with too-big, whiskey-colored eyes, and David felt any resolve he had left melting when the puppy sighed and nuzzled its head underneath his chin. 

“Okay, fine ” David rolled his eyes, one last attempt to appear casually put-upon. “But we’re changing his name. Trigger is a stupid name for a dog.” 

Patrick grinned, pressing a kiss to David’s temple and reaching over to gently fondle one of the puppy’s ears. “Thank you, David,” he said softly. David would do unspeakable things for that soft, happy grin, he’d realized over the past year- even, apparently, cuddling a puppy while wearing Givenchy. 

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies to anyone with a dog named Trigger, it’s nothing personal but it felt like the kind of name David would be offended by.


End file.
